


Sets You Going

by Anythingtoasted



Series: Adventures in the Batcave [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-14
Updated: 2013-03-14
Packaged: 2017-12-05 06:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pwp, destiel, batcave fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sets You Going

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from Sylvia Plath's "Morning Song" - _"love sets you going like a fat gold watch"_

That  _noise_.

There’s nothing like it.

Dean heard it the first time by accident; tipped his chin to kiss Castiel, one wrist pinned to the wall, and earned it; the tiny, wanting almost- _gasp,_ an intake of breath so sharp, so quiet, that Dean can only hear it close to his face; or here, between Castiel’s legs, the covers draped over his back, mouth wet around the head of Cas’ cock. He laps at it; Castiel’s head shoots up from sleep.

“Dean?” he murmurs blearily, and Dean doesn’t reply; takes him deeper, sliding his mouth further down the length of him and then up again, tongue pressed flat to the underside. He was half-hard when Dean woke but in his mouth he fills to full attention, and Dean almost smiles around him when he makes the noise again. Beside his ears, Castiel’s thighs draw up; Dean moves his hands, one to clutch at the fleshy base of his thigh, just under his ass; the other to lay flat on his stomach, which moves, now, as Castiel takes in air, the pitch of his breathing rising. “ _Dean._ ” He says, again, and lifts his hips, cock bumping Dean’s palate; Castiel moans, loud, and low.

His hand trails down his stomach; finds Dean’s hair and threads his fingers through it, grip tightening when Dean pulls back again, moves down again, eyes closed, slow. Castiel tugs, gently but firmly, pushing Dean to move at the rhythm he wants, slowly fucking into Dean’s mouth; his back arching, his other hand fisted against the mattress, and heat flashes through Dean at the sharp sensation – he moans, the reaction as uncontrollable as breathing, the noise muffled by the hot, moving weight of Castiel’s cock in his mouth. He realises this isn’t  _entirely_ a selfless action, anymore.

Not that it ever really was; Castiel pulls at his hair, murmuring his name between breaths, and from where he is, eyes open, Dean can see the curve of Castiel’s throat, his head thrown back, the muscles of his thigh trembling under Dean’s hand. He’s  _incredible_ like this, in the way that only Dean has ever seen him, taking Dean apart with how he falls apart, himself; Dean grunts, moves his hand from Castiel’s stomach to fist his own erection at the base, to give the illusion of relief. He sucks, hard, around a spurt of pre-come that fills his mouth and swallows,  cheeks hollowing, drawing from Castiel a ragged cry, a noise so loud he almost laughs in embarrassment; the angel tightens his hand in Dean’s hair; thrusts desperately into Dean’s mouth, the head of his cock rasping against the soft skin inside Dean’s cheek, and the noise Castiel is making then, Dean knows, means he’s already getting close; a low moan, broken only by his sharp intakes of breath.

There is no pretense about Castiel, no embarrassment; like this he’s  _loud_ and Dean _loves_ it, loves feeling like a fucking  _god_ from the grunting, animal way Castiel rolls his hips into his mouth, the way his rhythm stutters when he gets to the edge, cock wet and dripping with saliva, with pre-come, the backs of his legs damp and slippery with sweat. Dean draws back a final time, pushing up against Castiel’s hand; sucks, hard, around the head of his cock, and is rewarded with the trembling exhale of his orgasm, filling his mouth, dripping from between his lips even as he tries to swallow it, the angel’s hips still moving, juddering, riding it out. He pulls off, breathing just as heavily as Castiel – gives him a second, wherein Castiel pants, softly - then dips down again to lap him clean, tongue sliding over him from root to tip, dropping his head to lick at where come and saliva have dripped over the crease between thigh and groin. He finishes, as best he can; kisses his hip as a final sign-off, a little signature, –  _Dean Winchester was here –_ then crawls up the bed to kiss Castiel on the lips, mouth still bitter and salty even as the angel’s tongue slides to meet his.

“Good morning.” He murmurs, still hard but not really caring, arms bracketing Castiel’s shoulders, knees astride his waist. The angel laughs, eyes closed, and sighs half-exasperatedly; slings an arm around Dean’s shoulders. Pulls him close.


End file.
